Thursday, July 26, 2012

Like most sensible people I will be staying well away from London during sports week.

It appears that you can't even have your picture taken without some corporate fascist or other imposing their fearful publicity on you, and inflicting you with the company of some self-promoting half wit.

Please do not view this link if you are of a nervous temperament. One poor boy is reduced to tears by the ordeal. I was bereft. Something should be done.

Friday, July 20, 2012

It has been very difficult to avoid making cynical comments about the Olympic Games, and falling in with the expectation to be negative about what could be a great sporting event. However, the title "Olympic Games" should not be confused with the games that were conducted every four years some time ago, where athletic prowess was recognised and applauded.

The greatest damage done to the Olympian ideal was not the various forms of cheating, principally narcotic related, but by the complete dominance of the corporate sector, in some of its ugliest forms. Usain Bolt's records will never be beaten, because by the next Olympic Games, there will be an enforced half-way break in track events, where the competitors have to consume the produce of the sponsors and sing the McDonald's national anthem.

The London games would be much more of a spectacle if we could be guaranteed not to see the festering corporeal mass of Bozza sticking his gnarled proboscis in at every opportunity.

I have made reference to what I would like to see as an opening ceremony elsewhere. For the closing ceremony, can I suggest that arsewit Coe should be seen putting on some trainers (adidas, of course) and then set off running, with instructions to keep running in a straight line, and not stop.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

My
attention was drawn to an article in the Torygraph this week, reporting that
Liz refused to confer the knighthood on Mick Jagger, and got some other
parasite to do it. She apparently disapproved of his anti-establishment views (later
exemplified by his note of congratulation to Bozza on winning the mayoral
election).

This
is the woman who, a couple of months ago, entertained members of the “royal”
family from Saudi and Swaziland. While, therefore, we might applaud her
disapproval of a prancing, self-absorbed, overblown performer who has produced
on average one decent song a decade these forty years, we might also question her
choice of dinner guests. (Although anyone who has dined with Phil the fascist
over the last 60 something years on a regular basis might be considered to have
already scraped the bottom of the barrel in question.)

What
planet is she on? That is not a rhetorical question, as I can provide the
answer: the wrong fucking one. If, on the other hand, the cost of transporting
her and her cohorts to Neptune proves to be excessive then what should have
happened is that the recent ridiculous display of stupidity on the Thames
should have started at Putney, and gone down river, turned left in the North
Sea and continued to their new home at Svalbard. I would even be satisfied with
her being allowed to buy a bijou bungalow at Bexhill on Sea – “Dunwavin” - together with whichever of her family she
could bear the sight of – Phil, Ann, Pippa Middleton and her arse, Kate
Middleton and her arse (William).

I
can already hear sounds of dismay and outrage from the brigade of soppy, silly
sods who pressed their smelly bodies up against each other to cheer the
spectacle of a deranged octogenarian and her throwback kin standing in a boat. “What
would we do without her? What about the tourists and the income they bring?” I
can hear them asking. These questioners are probably the same dim bunch who
read the Daily Mail each morning and are incensed by the vast numbers (7) of
illegal immigrants. Can they not see that inviting folk who are dim enough to
spend their annual leave gormlessly gawping at a load of old buildings are
hardly prize captures? Is the gene pool not already so shallow that the risk of
any of these meandering morons breeding while they are over here is not worth
taking?

Of
course all of this frenzied celebration is beauteous to Slimy Dave and his
mates. Heaven only knows what new ways he will find to shaft the
underprivileged while they are distracted by the jubilee and the bloody Olympics.
Bloody Olympics. I have an idea for the opening ceremony – let’s set up a table
in the middle of the athletics arena and have Bozza and Bollocky Coe dine on
McDonald’s and Coca Cola until they fucking burst. I would watch that.